Outlaw Star
by Frog-kun
Summary: Western!AU. Join Sheriff Mustang and company as they struggle against the wave of a cowboy zombie apocalypse. This is not a comedy.


**Author's note: **So about the setting… it's pretty much the same as the original with the alchemy and all that, but instead of being based off Industrial Era England, it's the Wild, Wild West. The title comes from an anime, but the story has nothing at all to do with Outlaw Star.

Also, apologies in advance if I get details wrong. It's been a while since I last watched FMA.

**Outlaw Star**

The night ended with a bang.

Three gunshots rang out into the darkness, blunt and staccato. A pause. Then the harsh, jarring noise of glass shattering. The unlit street was lonely and vacant, and the sound echoed and ricocheted off the walls.

Gracia Hughes snapped her eyes open immediately. She sat up sharply in her bed, listening to the sounds outside. The bedroom window faced the streets, though the view was blocked by the curtains, and outside, she could hear the sound of drunken laughter being carried about by the wind.

She pursed her lips. Inside, it felt cold and detached from the outer world. The scent of danger brushed up nearer, only punctuated by the sound of yet another gunshot.

Her husband was already reaching for the handgun he kept in the bedside drawer. As he cocked and loaded it, frowning as he did so, Gracia felt the hairs on her neck stand up.

"Who is it?" she asked, quietly yet tersely. "They'll wake Elicia."

"I'm checking. I'll be right back."

She did not need to tell her husband to take care of himself. She gripped the bed sheets tightly, clenching her hands into fists. Maes made his way to the window and pulled the curtains aside.

Another drunken hoot reverberated around the street. Peering out the window, Gracia could see the lights of the other houses were still off; the darkness was encapsulating. Nobody was responding.

"If you ignore the problem, it'll go away, huh…?"

As she mused aloud to herself, she squinted further. She could make out shadowy figures standing on the cobble pavement. Three of them. From their shape, it seemed they were big, brawny men.

"It looks like a drunken fight," she whispered to her husband, sighing under her breath. "Honestly, at this time of the night?"

Another gunshot rang out, and one of the figures of the men swayed and then toppled over. Gracia's hands flew to her mouth.

"My gosh!"

She turned to point this out to her husband, but Maes had already darted out the front door. She had no opportunity even to tell him to wait.

Was the man outside dead? Gracia could not tell – she could not make out any features. Quickly, she scrambled to find a lamp. She could only hope Maes would not get shot too. She could make out the sound of yelling on the street. Was that her husband's voice…? Icy cold fear pricked and bled into her heart.

Finally, she found the lantern. She noticed her fingers were shaking. She breathed and her fingers stilled. Then she struck a match.

Another gunshot rang out. A muffled cry sounded out in the darkness.

Just what was going on down there?

Gracia rushed over to the window, brandishing the lamp. But she was still too far away to see. The lamp cast light in uncertain angles at all directions. To her eyes, it only obscured the figures on the street even further. Sucking in breath, she made her way downstairs, finding the door ajar.

Finally, she could begin to make out some voices. "Stop it! Put down the gun!" she heard Maes call out sternly. Tonight, he was using his pure business voice. It was never a voice he used inside the house.

In response, Gracia heard a man's cursing, sounding deep and guttural like a growl. Just as she reached the door, she heard the noise she dreaded to hear again.

A gunshot.

Followed by another cry.

The men were tumbling about in the darkness. Gracia cast the light in their direction, praying her husband was safe.

It turned out he was standing by the sideline, one arm reaching forward, his pupils dilated in shock.

One man – the one who had fallen earlier – was still on the ground, blood seeping out from the wound in his head. His eyes were still open, glassy-eyed and dim.

The other two were still grappling at each other, while the gun was lying unattended on the ground. Both men attempted to reach for it, but their joint efforts held each other off.

They were snarling and lunging at each other's throats. They moved with a sense of haste and ferocity that belied their girths.

None of this was what surprised Gracia, however. It took her only a glance to realise the same thing that had left her husband dumbfounded.

They were men, but they looked nothing like humans at all.

* * *

"Chimeras?"

Frowning, Sheriff Roy Mustang peered at Maes Hughes past the pile of paperwork on his desk. Perhaps it was the effect of the morning light beaming through the window, or maybe it was from watching Mustang's ever-practical secretary Hawkeye work solidly and silently throughout the meeting, but the events of last nights seemed so distant. Only the word – chimera – seemed to touch against the clinical, sterile atmosphere.

Hughes frowned too. He was sure of what he had seen.

"I reckon someone's been messing with alchemy in this county, Roy." Hughes was the only constable who called the Sheriff by his name.

"So what exactly happened last night?" Mustang asked, looking disgruntled.

"I dealt with them." Hughes scratched the back of his neck and sighed. "It was ugly. My poor, dear wife was watching it all. Looked like those chimeras were having a drunken fight."

"They can get drunk?" This was news to Mustang.

Hughes laughed, but almost as soon as he did, he stopped. Just how had those chimeras gotten drunk? Had chimeras progressed to having enough intelligence to seek alcohol? Just when had that happened?

Hughes was no expert on alchemy, but from the reports he had read, the only prior instances of chimeras were simple lab experiments. The chimeras had possessed rudimentary intelligence and soon died after being created. They were promptly forbidden to be created after that.

Someone had evidently been experimenting in secret, judging from the look of surprise on Mustang's face. His expression soon hardened.

"And then?" he pressed Hughes.

"I was just planning to restrain them… but then they died. They ended up killing each other."

Hughes did not mention the sight that his wife ended up seeing too. The chimeras bit into each other's flesh, tearing the skin off with their sharp teeth. The blood spilt from their wounds, flowing into their mouths and dripping down their chins. The skins on their faces stretched like rubber, their expressions contorted and their mouths gaping open wide.

"Are you sure they were Chimeras?" Mustang pressed him.

"Well, yeah," said Hughes, feeling puzzled by Mustang's sudden sharp question. "They weren't _human_, Roy. It was like they were a violation of the world's order."

"Hmm."

Resting his chin on his hands, Mustang continued to frown and ponder. Finally, he stood up and reached for his hat hanging off the back of his chair. "Guess I'll go check out the bodies myself. Hawkeye!"

"Yes, sir."

The secretary smoothed the papers over and picked up her Colt. The revolver had been obscured by the paperwork. Unassumingly, she reloaded the revolver and fell into step behind the Sheriff.

"Doctor Knox's been examining the bodies," Hughes pointed out.

"Let's go," Mustang announced.

As they walked along, Hughes thought about Gracia. She had seen something truly terrible. Though she said she was fine and urged him to report the story to the Sheriff, she was probably so shaken herself. And all alone too.

How was Elicia doing? Thank god she'd slept through the whole ugly affair.

Mustang seemed to notice Hughes's discomfort because as he tightened his glove over his hand, he said, "We'll keep this quick."

Hughes nodded.

It was a short walk from the police station to the clinic. The day was sweltering, even more so than usual. Because of that, not many people were walking down the streets, though those who were kept their distance from them. Sheriff Mustang inspired simultaneous respect and fear in most of the citizens in the county. Mostly, they thought he was an insufferable womaniser out for a promotion.

Hughes surveyed the sleepy, dusty town. He squinted, trying to visualise the Chimeras once more. He imagined them darting around with all the speed he had witnessed last night. Everyone moved so slowly out in the country. Even Hughes, who had lived here his whole life, found himself aware of the relative lethargy. Only Mustang strode along with purpose.

The sun beat down harshly upon them, undiscriminating. Hughes adjusted his brown, sun-caked hat, and walked on.

The clinic was small and plain in appearance. "Knox Clinic" was carved in engraved brass letters over the door. The letters looked slightly worn and the wooden building was somewhat weather-torn. Still, there was something neat and dignified about it. As one of the few alchemists who lived in town, he was widely respected by all.

Knox met them at the door when they knocked. "Ugh, that you, Mustang?" he asked, looking irritated. Actually, he and the Sheriff were old comrades in the war. "Is this about the bodies?"

It was cooler inside Knox's house, but not by much. Hughes wondered if the bodies would decompose in this heat. Probably. But alchemists had a way of overcoming that, at least temporarily.

"Indeed," Mustang replied. "You know what the matter with them is?"

"Disgusting, really," said Knox with a grunt. "Definitely a matter of alchemy. Not yours, though. I'd know your handiwork any day."

Mustang smirked. "They weren't burned."

"No, my guess is they were reanimated corpses."

Sparse wafts of smoke issued out of the cigarette in Knox's mouth. He took it out and crushed it against the ashtray lying on the otherwise unfurnished kitchen bench.

"They weren't Chimeras?" asked Roy, glancing towards Hughes. Hughes shook his head.

He knew what he had seen last night was certainly not human, but a reanimated corpse? So the laws of alchemy did permit such an abomination after all. Come to think of it, if it as a Chimera, he hadn't know what animal the human had been combined with.

All Hughes had known was the wide gaping eyes, the grotesque hollow faces and the blood.

"Chimeras?" Knox seemed to think about. "Don't think so. Maybe. I'm not familiar with that kind of alchemy. They're normal corpses, but something's off."

Reanimating a corpse was definitely a sin in alchemy. Someone had broken the biggest taboo of all – trying to resurrect the dead.

For a moment, nobody spoke. Mustang made a noise that sounded like "Tch!" and Hughes bit his lip.

Hawkeye, calm and collected as ever, said, "Let's see them then."

Knox reached for another cigarette. "Right then," he said, nodding in approval. "Come on."

Knox led them past the spotless kitchen and living room and into a smaller basement. This was where he kept his medical equipment and presumably the bodies. He paused outside the door of the basement, almost hesitating.

"Well, here we are," he said briskly.

He opened the door.

The finely polished and sharpened dissection tools were arranged in a row, looking like gleaming instruments of death. But the room itself was empty. The tables were vacant.

Suddenly, Knox sucked in his breath and paled.

"What is it?" Hughes asked.

"The bodies… they're gone!"

* * *

His name was Barry.

He was a humble butcher, though slowly growing disillusioned with the practice. It came to him one day, as he cleaved the meats and soaked the bloods – this wasn't enough for him. There was more that he could do. There was no use in cutting something that was already dead.

When that thought came to him, it was impossible to dismiss. It lingered in the back of his mind no matter where he went. He began to measure people by how many ounces of flesh he could slash up. It became more than he could stand.

Tonight, he decided, tonight he would make his move.

And so, sharpening up his cleaver, he slowly made his way to his wife's bedroom.

… But his wife wasn't there.

Barry looked outside.

A looming figure, dressed only in a nightdress, was stumbling her way across the pavement towards him.

"Oh, honey!" Barry exclaimed, recognising her immediately. He waved to her, blood-stained cleaver in hand.

She shuffled closer and closer and closer, opening her mouth wider and wider…

…**tbc…**

**Author's note: **For the sake of making this story work, alchemy works a little bit differently. Trying to resurrect someone doesn't create homunculi, it makes zombies.

So yeah, zombies and Western. As far as I've seen, there's no other FMA fic like this one. Something tells me this nobody will read this, though. Dedicated to **The Jabberer, **who has been bugging me to write a Western for ages. Since I don't like the genre, this was the best I could do. Happy New Year, everyone!


End file.
